


A Single Error

by Ausp_ice, Corveille



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Flowers, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Identity, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, NewERARBB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corveille/pseuds/Corveille
Summary: Connor loses his memory of all the events that happened after his first activation, leaving him questioning who he really is supposed to be.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 25
Kudos: 109
Collections: New ERA Discord: Reverse Big Bang





	A Single Error

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! A little bit late to the party but Happy Birthday [New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) discord. The theme was **identity** so this is mine and [Auspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice)'s work for the anniversary!
> 
> Hope you enjoy :D 
> 
> And thank you Auspice for proof reading this monster :,)

Model RK800. Serial number # 313 248 317- 51

Bios 10.7 PROTOTYPE C

_Loading OS_

_System Analysis_

_Biocomponents_ … OK

 _Biosensors_ … OK

 _Engine_ … OK

 _Memory Status_ … **ERROR**

 _Memory Restart_ …

……

…

ALL SYSTEMS … **PENDING**

“Connor?” A voice says from somewhere in front of him.

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

The RK800 opens its eyes to find an android dressed in a white jacket standing in front of it, eyebrows furrowed, mimicking a worried expression. A panel rests a few feet away from where they are, multiple screens display sets of codes in rapid succession. It’s impossible to scan them from the angle the RK800 is currently in.

“Connor?” The question brings its attention back to the other android again. Eyes narrowed the slightest bit when it sees the other’s hands are stained with thirium. A quick look down at its own body reveals the edges of its Cyberlife suit shirt shares the same state.

It focuses on the numbers written on the white jacket, RK900, another line of its series?

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

The RK800 considers its options on how to approach the situation, making a point of not making its LED change from blue as to not draw attention.

It tries to move, but soon realizes it can’t.

“Hello,” it chooses to say, noticing how its movements are restricted by the arms of an assembly rig. As it moves its neck to look up at them, the RK800 becomes aware of the tubes connecting to the port on the back of its neck. The other android lets out of sigh and closes its eyes.

“I’m sorry about the restraints, it served merely as a precaution. We were not sure how you’d react once we reactivated you.”

The RK800 doesn’t ignore how the android used the word ‘we’, even though currently there are only the two of them in this room. As it is, it simply nods in understanding and watches as the other android takes a step back to look at the panel.

The limited range of movement doesn’t stop it from testing the machine it’s hooked on, calculating just how far its limbs can reach.

“I’ll let you down in a moment, Connor. I just want to make sure everything is as it should be,” the android says without looking at him, and the RK800 stops its subtle tugs.

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

It can’t help but frown at that insistent notification, but the android clearly mistakes the reaction as being caused by its words. With a sigh, the other retracts the skin from its hand. The white shines under the artificial light of the room as the android connects with the screen closest to him. Hopefully, an attempt to speed up the process.

“You were always quite impatient,” the RK900 huffs out, a small smile lifting the corner of its lips. “Just a bit longer, Connor.”

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

It is, frankly, getting tired of that pop up.

Tentatively, the RK800 decides it’s waited long enough to ask questions.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” At the question the other stops moving and looks back at the RK800, confusion clearly written over his features.

“What do you mean? That... is your name.” The android presses, eyes narrowing when the RK800 gives a simple shake of its head.

“It doesn’t register in my files,” it says, following with a quick, “could you tell me the reason why I am here?”

The RK800 expects to receive further instructions, for the android to possibly call a technician to run some test on it or to explain the situation, but nothing comes. Instead, the RK900 looks more and more distressed the longer the silence stretches between them, face turning from the lines of codes on the screen and then back to it. 

The RK900 retreats its hand from the terminal and takes a few steps forward.

“Do you… do you know who I am?” The android asks, tone hesitant.

The RK800 tilts its head, considering the question, before looking into the information provided by the scan.

“You are an RK900 model, same serial number as I except for the -87 identifier. Produced in 2039.” It lists each point as they appear on his HUD. It’s a very limited report, but the RK800 supposes Cyberlife wouldn’t want the public to know much about an android with a military background.

It pauses when it reaches the date and then looks at the one set on its own calendar.

“Could you tell me what date it is, currently?”

The RK900 straightens its posture, expression sobered as it answers.

“November 9th, 2039.”

The RK800’s lips curve down into a frown, LED taking on a yellow tint.

“Strange, my calendar lists this day as August 15th, 2038.”

“Connor—” the RK900 keeps on repeating, causing the _Invalid request: Not found_ to show up, yet again, “—tell me, what is the most you remember?”

“I…” it trails off as the words **[ERROR]** pop up when it tries to access the memory files, “I am unable to answer that question. My memory core appears to be damaged.” Just to make sure the RK800 tries to do it again, and once again for good measure—but the result is still the same.

Out of the corner of its eye, the android sees the code showing on the panel glitching out with each attempt. It tries not to let it show, but its stress levels rise in tandem with each glitch. It is not long before the RK900 takes notice of it as well.

“That’s—” but whatever it is the military model means to say gets interrupted by the sound of a loud bang coming from outside the room. Both androids turn in sync to the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. The RK800’s hands turn into fists, pre-construction system coming up with possible ways to escape, none have a high percentage of success, considering the odds.

“Where the fuck _is he?!_ ” A rough voice comes from the end of the hallway as another, more timid one tries—and fails—to calm whoever’s out there down. A tired sigh leaves the RK900, shoulders losing some of their stiffness, though it does little to calm the other RK down.

The door to their room opens before the RK900 can get to it. A man—around his late fifties based on his scanners—barges in with a nervous PL600 trailing right behind him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t—” The PL600 begins only to get cut off as the man locks eyes with the RK800.

“For fuck’s sake Nine, why are you keeping him chained up like that?” the man asks as he begins to approach them. It starts to calculate the minimum distance needed to kick the human in order to incapacitate him.

“Hank,” the RK900 starts—perhaps sensing its apprehension—making a move to stand between them, but the man just brushes past the android.

“God dammit, Connor—” _Invalid request: Not found_ “—what the fuck happened to you? Did a bolt get loose or something?” the man asks in fast succession. The RK800’s processors quickly identify the police badge at the other’s side, a lieutenant. Its eyes slowly shift to look at the holster on the man’s waist, out of reach unless it gets the human to step closer.

The RK doesn’t really know how to proceed. It doesn’t have any information to give, so it doesn’t say anything, though that doesn’t stop the man from trying again.

“Connor? Hey, are you okay son?” Some of the anger leaves the lieutenant’s voice this time, the sneer disappears from his mouth as he tries to take a step closer.

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

“Hank,” the RK900—Nine says softly and puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, expression troubled as it thinks of the best way to explain the situation. “I think you should wait outside, I don’t think Connor is ready to...see you in his state just yet.” His?

_ >Invalid request: Not found _

“What do you mean, in his state? Connor,” — _Invalid request:Not fou_ —“what’s going on?”

“Stop,” its own voice sounds strained in its ears but the RK800 can’t handle it, all the invalid commands flooding its line of vision. The mechanical arms holding its body shake as it buckles forward, away. It just wants to get away from here.

“Stop, just stop saying that name.”

The sudden silence that falls in the room only seems to make it worse.

Despite shutting its eyes close, the glitch refuses to go away until the moment it feels something touching the synthetic skin of its cheek. The RK800 finds himself looking at an aged face and blue eyes, eyes that stare at him with such intensity, hoping to find answers the android knows it doesn’t have.

“I’m sorry,” it says as the hand slowly retreats, “but I don’t know who you are.”

* * *

The invalid command stops appearing after it registers its name as ‘Connor’.

The events that come after its outburst are barely registered by its processors. Connor’s part of them, it moves with them but, to the RK800, it is almost the same as watching it all happen through the lens of a camera.

It feels so surreal. Maybe that’s why it has trouble processing everything.

* * *

Connor finds itself sitting on a chair right outside of the same room, a half emptied bag of thirium held firmly between its hands. The few, scarce androids around the area barely gave it a glance as they walked down the corridors of this place—New Jericho, they called it.

They move in and out, accustomed to the building and each other. To them, Connor’s probably just another android, another face.

Trying to contact Cyberlife headquarters has been met with failure so far. Not only is the android unable to connect with them, but it doesn’t have any set objective to start with. Everything is a blank slate.

It has been an hour since Connor’s reactivation and the discovery of its memory loss. An hour since it’d been escorted out of the maintenance room by the PL600 android—Connor had found out its name to be Simon—to replenish its thirium supply. There had been a lot of yelling and even more confusion, even before the two left the room. It is a bizarre thought, but at the time,Connor had been glad those feelings were not only on its end.

It doesn’t know what caused the memory loss and, going by everyone’s reaction to this, Connor doubts it’ll find the answers it needs here. At most, the android had been given a seemingly pitiful look from Simon before leaving, going into the room soon after.

The reaction sits oddly with it.

Testing its luck, Connor maps out the memory route in its core and tries to access it.

**[ERROR]**

The plastic bag creaks slowly under Connor’s palm as the android tightens its grip on it.

Some part of it feels regret for saying those words, back then in the repair room. Watching the grief in the man’s eyes as he realized this RK800 wasn’t the same android he was looking for left Connor with a level of guilt it’s not sure how to handle.

“Done?” Connor snaps out of its thoughts to find the RK900 standing a few feet away from him, nodding towards the thirium bag. Connor blinks at the other RK for what feels like a minute before finally looking down.

Ah.

It loosens the grip around the bag with careful movements, as if it has to will each individual finger to obey.

“Yes,” Connor says, trying to fill in the awkward silence between them, “thank you. Nine, was it?”

“Correct,” Nine says and walks a little closer, making his intention on taking the bag from Connor clear by commenting, “mind if I…?”

“Go ahead.”

Nine gives another stiff nod and takes a seat next to Connor, fixing the bent straw before bringing it up to its lips.

Despite Connor’s efforts, the atmosphere that weighs over them is uncomfortable, primarily in the way they refuse to make eye contact. Its social protocols tell Connor how it should be trying to fill in the air with some casual conversation, whatever that may entail.

As it turns out, it doesn’t really need to. Nine makes the decision for both of them.

“This must feel pretty jarring to you,” is what Nine goes with after it drinks the last of the thirium.

That, Connor thinks, is an understatement.

“It might be too much to ask, but could you tell me what happened?” it asks, though it does not expect a clear answer. The probability of getting one, after all, is quite low.

The heavy sigh that leaves the other android only helps to confirm it.

“We were hoping you’d answer that question once we reactivated you.” Nine twists the empty bag in its hands around until the object transforms into a small ball. “The truth is, we don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. All I know is that you were on the way back from a walk with Sumo—a dog, the Lieutenant’s dog to be exact—” despite not remembering any of it, Connor smiles—it likes dogs, “— you were on a call with Lieutenant Anderson when the line went dead. It was actually Sumo who led us back to you, laying on the streets. We suspected you were attacked, but we couldn’t confirm it.”

So it’d still remain a mystery for the time being.

The conversation transitions into a more comfortable silence after that. Nines fixates on moving the plastic ball from hand to hand while Connor takes on the role of quiet spectator.

As it watches the ball jump Connor’s mind fixates on part of what Nine said, its mouth changes into a more pronounced frown.

“The Lieutenant found me, didn’t he?”

The ball stops.

“He did,” Nine simply says.

“He seemed….troubled by this new turn of events.”

“Con—” Nine begins only to cut itself off, teeth clicking as its mouth snaps shut. Its LED glows a pale yellow but Connor shakes its head before pointing at its own LED.

“You can call me that, I was able to fix the bug on my own.” 

The LED goes back to blue.

“He is, but I’ll see that he doesn’t do anything reckless.”

Somehow, that makes Connor feel….lighter.

“We went so far as to check your biocomponents,” Nine continues, “since you are a prototype, the chances of one of them breaking was high, but everything was fine.”

“So there was nothing,” Connor says.

“Nothing physical at least, the others are reviewing your code as we speak.”

“You think a virus could have gotten past my firewalls?”

“It is a possibility,” Nine hums in agreement, “hopefully Markus will have an idea on how to fix this.”

“That’s something else I’d like to ask, is Markus a Cyberlife technician?”

At the question, Nine blinks slowly at Connor, once, twice, so Connor repeats it.

“Cyberlife…technician,” the way in which Nine parrots those words back lets Connor know there’s another surprise coming.

Somehow, the RK800 doesn’t think it'd be a good one.

* * *

It feels as if the very pillars of its foundation come crumbling down when Nine explains to Connor.

Cyberlife, the corporation it worked for, the ones responsible for its creation, were no longer here. Connor needs more than a minute to process that sentence, to look through the news just to confirm it is, indeed, true. It reads and analyzes how everything came to be.

How Markus was the pinnacle of the android revolution, leading thousands of androids to go against their programming. How the androids became deviants and gained free will.

‘Deviant,’ yet another term it has to grow used to.

When it finally gets to meet Markus in person, Connor doesn’t react to discovering the android is another RK model. It barely says a word while Nine, Markus, Simon and two other models speak in the room. Everything feels numb to it. Again, it sees pitiful looks tossed its way, except now it can see the reason behind them.

They don’t rule out the possibility of a virus that was part of an anti-android attack, but their initial analysis doesn’t show anything potentially malicious within his systems. So, for now, Markus doesn’t dismiss the possibility of a malfunction within Connor’s processors being the cause of it.

Connor suggests the option of looking into back-up servers where it could have uploaded its files. The cold reality hits it again when Nine clarifies that only Cyberlife had access to said servers, and apparently Connor stopped using them after he deviated.

They advise it to avoid using the term ‘it’ while referring to other androids or itself. They are not just machines anymore, but something greater. Something alive.

Connor doesn’t know what to think of that.

It would rather keep this part of it that feels right in its mind, even if it is just for a little longer.

But it’s not as if he has many alternatives to begin with.

* * *

“Here we are,” Nine says, showing Connor the room where he’ll be staying for a few days. They all had come to an agreement to keep Connor in New Jericho for the time being, until they could find a way to solve what was wrong with him.

What _is_ wrong with him…?  
  


**[ERROR]  
  
**

He’d rather think about something else.

The room consists of a single bed, next to a bare window and a small table set with two chairs on the other side, close to the door. It’s more than an android would need, but Connor thinks it’s nice of them to try and give him some semblance of comfort.

Connor runs his hand over the top of the table and observes the dust gathered on his fingertips before looking back at Nine.

“It’s had little use, if any at all,” Nine offers as explanation.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. None of this is, really, but it is what Connor has to deal with. He moves the chair back and takes a seat, putting both hands and arms on the table and playing with his thumbs. Nine looks at him for a little while before he, too, sits down.

“I still find it odd,” Connor says after a minute of silence, “this, whatever is happening. It just doesn’t feel…real.”

Nine’s lips set into a thin line.

“Hopefully it’ll feel real once we find the issue.”

Connor doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t respond. He gets the feeling trying to argue will not give him any results.

“I’ll run more tests tomorrow, see if there was anything we might have missed.” With that, Nine gets up and deems one last farewell before leaving Connor alone in his new room.

* * *

The next few days go by in a rush for Connor, moving from one room to another, getting hooked on a multitude of machines just to figure out what went wrong that night. Little by little, he acclimatizes to Nine's presence with each visit.

Little by little, he gets to know more about the others in New Jericho, making him not feel so on edge.

It is when he’s connected to another machine when he sees the lieutenant again, his frame tense behind the glass panel separating them. Connor has his chassis completely exposed, revealing his machine-like nature.

He watches the lieutenant’s hand press against the glass before it clenches into a fist. A glare adorns the human's face as he looks over to Simon working on the machine. Connor feels his LED take on a yellow hue when that same glare sets on him.

The lieutenant steps away from the window before Connor can figure out what to say.

It is after two more failed tests when they find something.

More than being wiped, something is blocking the path needed to access his memories. The block seems so integrated into his core that it would be a risk to try and delete it, else Connor wants to lose his memories for good. It’s not the best type of news, but at least there’s hope to recover them if they can go past the blockage.

Connor sees Nine exiting the room, probably to give the news to Lieutenant Anderson.

When Connor goes out the door after activating his skin again, the man is nowhere to be found.

* * *

Nine often doesn’t leave his side, everywhere Connor goes Nine offers to follow.

He can tell that the other RK is worried for him. Still, it feels strange having company around. 

He’s not used to it.

“What am I to you?” Connor finally decides to ask after another check up. Nine doesn’t look up from the tablet he’s holding but lets Connor know he’s heard him with a hum. He seems to consider the question and takes his time to answer.

“I think the closest word would be ‘brother.’”

“Brother?” Connor says with a slight frown, “I’m not sure the term could apply to androids. We are not bonded by blood, nor do we share a parent.” He glances down at his glass of thirium in his hand.

They are part of the same line and share many features, he can see the reasoning behind the word brother, but some similarities are not enough to refer to themselves as such. He doesn't think…

When he looks up at Nine again, only to find him wearing a smile and looking at Connor with a level of fondness that wasn't there before.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I remember I said the same thing when you asked to be brothers. I found the idea ridiculous, but”—Nine pauses, his tone grows softer—“but back then, you told me that maybe we could try to be, anyway.”

Their session goes like any other after that. He wants to ask more, but after a second, thinks he’s probed enough for today.

“Brothers…” he tests the word in his tongue once he’s alone again, long after Nine has left.

Despite what Connor initially said, he admits it has a nice ring to it.

He sits on the bed, not bothering to move the sheets, and wonders what it is like to have a brother, to have a partner or a companion.

He is getting ready to enter into stasis when something pops up on his HUD.

_ > No fucking way I don’t need a partner and certainly not this plastic—  
  
_

**[ERROR]  
  
**

He only receives the audio—somewhat distorted—but the voices sound vaguely familiar. He doesn’t get to review it again before his systems deem the recording as a bug.

Connor concentrates on navigating through the glitches in his mainframe, trying to get that memory back, to get it to stay despite the constant errors in his line of vision.

It doesn’t come back to him, as much as he tries. He waits in anticipation for another record to come up, something he can work with this time, but nothing shows up again.

He doesn’t enter stasis that night.

* * *

“I was made to work as a police assistant unit.” Connor comments the next time he meets with Nine. “And both you and I seem to be close to a police lieutenant, so it is safe to assume I work—or worked at a police station.”

“That’s correct, we both work for the DPD.”

Like before, both are sitting by the table, but this time two Rubik’s cubes rest on top of it. According to Nine they were something to make their time trapped in here a little more bearable.

“I used to have a partner?”

Nine blinks slowly at him at first, before answering.

“You still do, as do I.”

Connor gives a nod to the other android and picks up the Rubik’s cube on his side of the table, spinning it around in his hand. He thinks back to the log, tries to remember how that voice sounded like.

“It is Lieutenant Anderson, isn’t it?”

“And what makes you say that?” Nine asks him, his tone hopeful. At least now, he can pin down why the voice sounded familiar.

“Last night, something managed to get past the block. I was only able to hear a voice before it was cut short.” Connor explains as he goes back to the cube. “From what I gathered, he doesn’t seem to like me much,” he says, tapping one of the red squares on the side facing him.

“That’s good,” Nine says, not caring about hiding his excitement, “Lieutenant Anderson can be hard around the edges, as people say, but he cares deeply about you.”

“And he has a funny way of showing it, I’m presuming?” Connor says, thinking back on how the man has expressed himself when Connor woke up. Rash, loud, but with hints of concern underneath a mean exterior.

“Quite,” Nine huffs, “but it is all bark and little bite.”

“How is he?”

Now it is Nine who takes the cube from the table, wasting no time in solving it.

“He’s buried himself with work, and while I’d prefer he wouldn’t, it’s certainly better than the alternative.” His hands move fast, colors switching in Connor’s visual as the squares of the cube move from one face to the other.

“Alternative?” Connor pipes in, not liking the sound of that. He sets to solve his cube, determined to see if he can win against his brother.

Nine’s cube stops for a moment, enough for Connor to catch up to him.

“I don’t think I should be the one to tell you,” Nine deflects, “but perhaps you could ask him yourself.”

Connor limits himself to shrug, still focused on the cube.

“It doesn’t look like he wants to talk to me.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to find the right words.”

Both androids set their Rubik’s cube on the table. To the naked eye it looks like both finished at the same time, but Connor’s processors can tell Nine drops the solved cube a millisecond before he did.

“Actually,” Nine says, “he asked me to give this to you.” He searches the pocket of his jacket and takes out a quarter. Connor quirks an eyebrow at him, but when Nine just shakes his palm, urging him to take the coin, he finally does.

Connor moves the coin between his fingers, tests the weight of it, flipping it into the air once before catching it.

Nine watches him play around, tilting his head.

“Seems like you haven’t forgotten about your tricks.”

“My calibrations,” Connor corrects him, something inherent to the RK800 model. He wouldn’t need his memories to remember how to do this but—“why?” he asks.

The RK900 stands, walks around the table and puts one hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Because it’s yours,” he simply says, as if that’s supposed to be enough.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, there’s not much for him to do in this room but to wait for Nine to arrive. Connor sits patiently on the chair, done with his stasis cycle. He gently taps one finger on the table besides him, the soft rhythm soothing in the uneasy silence.

But it is not enough.

After two minutes, his hand moves from the table in search of the coin hidden in a pocket. Connor weighs the quarter in his palm, watching as the silver lighting shines the numbers 1994 back at him. This coin, based on what Nine told him, is one of the few things that was his. But, although there’s a level of familiarity to it as it flips around his fingers, Connor can’t really agree with that sentiment.

For a while he focuses on it anyway, watching it switch from one hand to the other. The movements are automatic, his calibration system kicking in almost instantly and adjusting the position of the coin to correct its course when it lands a few millimetres off from the center of his palm. 

The clinking of the coin fills the room, cutting through the silence once again. Connor finds that he enjoys the sound. He decides to make bolder moves, makes the coin spin around on the tip of each finger.

But even his dexterity tricks grow redundant eventually.

He grabs the Rubik’s cubes, scrambles them, only to solve them both yet again. He gets up to walk around the room, from the door to the bed to the window, then back to the table.

He has a feeling this is the very definition of boredom. He’s bored. Bored and with nothing to get rid of it.

Except his own mind.

It’s the first time since his reactivation—since his memory loss— that he tries to enter his mind. He closes his eyes and concentrates. He can’t go into his own memory files, but that doesn’t mean he can’t access everything else either. It doesn’t take long to find the route to access called _Zen Garden,_ a name Connor, surprisingly, recognizes.

Despite having little hopes, he doesn’t expect the place to feel... so lonely.

For it to be so empty.

There’s something inherently wrong about it; those words don’t sit well with Connor. Somewhere deep in his programming, he knows this place should be more than a dark room and a set of bare pillars. There should be more, so much more.

Even here, the glitches don’t seem to leave him alone. He can see them out of the corner of his eye, chromatic aberrations distorting everything into an even uglier scene.

He walks alongside the edge of the pond, through the bridge and into the center of the Garden. It looks nothing like one and, just like him, this place is not as it used to be. He takes a seat under the roof on a pillar and watches his reflection stare back at him in the water.

Closing his hand into a fist, he wills himself to think of something to fill in this barren place.

A flower.

In his hand a small chrysanthemum blooms, thirium-blue washing over his face in a pulsing glow. Around him, more of the blue flowers appear in the pond, spinning around in a slow dance along the water, but keeping close to Connor.

In here, like this, Connor forgets about the glitches tainting his eyes, he doesn’t think about everything he’s lost, what he’s not.

He only looks at the flowers floating in the water.

* * *

On the following days Connor falls into a routine, of sorts.

During the day, he spends his time with Nine—sometimes he even finds himself helping Simon, if he allows it. At night, he takes care of the garden.

The chrysanthemums don’t stop growing, taking over the small island at the center on the pond. They twine around the base of the pillars and Connor takes care of pruning the ones rebellious enough to try to overgrow.

But even if the garden looks more alive than before, it still doesn’t feel right.  
  


_ >What about you, Connor? You look human, you sound human... but what are you really? _

  
More memories have begun to re-surface. He’s started to feel a little better, a little less lost but, not all of them are happy.

Some of them are painful to remember. A reminder that there’s blood on his hands.

Iit leaves him questioning if he really is as good as people say he is.

Connor sighs as he rips another flower.

* * *

The memories don’t get any better. A mission, _what was his mission?_

He’s killed so many of them, both humans and androids. The streets are covered in blue and red.

He wishes those memories have stayed hidden.

* * *

There is a rose intertwined in between the blue chrysanthemums the next time he enters the garden again. Its thorns have ripped into the petals of the other flowers and coiled around their stems on its way up the pillar.

Connor trims the torn parts away, fixes the bush as best as he can. He considers cutting away the rose—

—but feels like he shouldn’t.

* * *

It comes as a surprise when Hank shows up again, and it is all the more unexpected when Connor finds him waiting right outside his room.

He doesn’t meet Connor’s eyes when the android opens the door. Connor’s hand freezes on the handle, lost on what to say. His scanners pick on the faint traces of alcohol lingering on the lieutenant’s clothes and his beard.

_ >it’s certainly better than the alternative. _

“Hey,” Hank says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Hi.” Connor takes a step forward and looks around the hallway. “Where is Nine?”

“He had to work on a case, Lord knows he’s been asking Fowler for enough breaks. So I guess you’re stuck with me for today.”

“Oh.” It is not the most brilliant response Connor admits, but he is having trouble coming up with something better at the moment.

“Well, not only me, but I can’t exactly bring him into the building.” Hank says once the silence between them starts to become awkward. “Guess you’ll just have to come with me.”

The android tilts his head at that, causing Hank to snort.

“Come on.” He waves a hand around signalling for Connor to follow.

He doesn’t really have a reason to disobey, so he goes after Hank. They reach a little park area set between buildings—Connor has seen it through the windows as he walked down the hallway on his way to be tested, but he’s never actually been here before.

He doesn’t have much time to look around before a very big, quite furry animal bumps into him, knocking both of them to the ground. Connor finds himself under a huge mass of fur with little to no way to move.

This, Connor thinks, must be Sumo.

Almost as if on cue Hank yells “God dammit, Sumo! Heel!” He hooks both hands around the Saint Bernand’s collar and tries to pry the dog off—

—and he successfully does so, but not before the animal licks Connor’s face, covering it with drool.

“You big goof,” he says when Sumo whines at him.

Connor can’t help but let out a short laugh.

“It’s ok, Hank.” he says, sitting up. He makes a show of brushing the dirt off his pants before stretching a hand to scratch behind the dog’s right ear.

“Hello, Sumo.” Connor says in a cheerful tone, prompting the dog to wag his tail. Sumo pushes his head into the hand petting him, demanding more, and Connor is more than happy to comply.

At one point, Connor looks up at Hank only to see him staring at them with wide eyes.  
  
“What?”

“Nothing,” Hank is quick to say, “Come on, we should find a bench to sit down.”

They find the perfect spot right under the shade of a tree, out of sight from the main road. The moment Connor takes a seat, Sumo rests his head on top of his lap and lets out another whine.

“Was he always this affectionate?” Connor questions as he runs his fingers through the fur of the dog’s head. 

“Can’t you blame him? He’s been doing nothing but sleeping by the front door these past weeks, kind of reminds me about—” Hank cuts himself off suddenly.

Connor waits patiently for him to continue, but the lieutenant just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Nine tells me you’ve started to remember stuff?”

“I have.” Connor says with a nod. Bits and pieces, here and there. He raises one eyebrow at Hank as he thinks of one in particular. “You pointed a gun to my head.”

“Ah fuck, out of all things you remember that?”

“And how, apparently, you don’t like my coin tricks,” Connor lets go of Sumo’s head and takes out the quarter, flipping it in one hand.

Hank hides his face in his hands to muffle a groan.

“Now you are just making me look bad.”

“With all due respect, I think it is yourself who makes you look bad.”

“God, memory or not, you’re still a sassy little shit.” Connor’s LED goes red at that, his hand still on Sumo’s head and Hank curses when he realizes it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Shit. No. Con, I’m the one that’s sorry for saying that. And, you know, for not being around. It’s just…” Hank trails off, trying to come with the right word. “It was hard to see you like that.”

“It’s ok, I know I’m not the Connor you want.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Well, it feels like it!” Connor snaps, losing his calm demeanor. Constantly guessing who he is supposed to be, feeling lost while surrounded by people who know him. Seeing the blood, the fear in each deviant he’s killed. 

“Con—”

“I’m the Connor that’s stuck watching memories of all the things your Connor has done, feeling like an outsider in my own body.”

“You can’t let the past haunt you like that, Connor, believe me.” Hank sounds tired when he says that. “It never ends well.” 

The way Hank’s eyes flicker makes Connor think he’s remembering a painful memory, something the android should know about. 

Connor can feel his chest moving, heaving even though he doesn’t need to breathe.

"But what if that’s all there is for me?” he wheezes, “what if I can't be the Connor you knew?" Only a cheap imitation of him. What if he can’t remember everything and he is only left with all these broken memories? What then? Is it correct to say he’ll become a husk of what he used to be?

What—?

"I know you are an android, but you need to stop overthinking everything.” Hank puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Thinking about all the what ifs and what if nots.” He takes a hold of Connor’s arms and turns him over so they are both facing each other.

“I can’t give you a clear answer Connor, I don’t have your weird pre-construction skill or whatever the hell you guys have, but I can tell you you won’t have to deal with that alone.”

He brings Connor into a tight hug, warm and familiar, almost like, like...

“We'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there."

Connor wraps his arms around Hank and hugs back.

A wall breaks—

—then his mind goes blank.

* * *

He’s back in the Garden.

Connor blinks a few times, trying to understand what just happened. He didn’t mean to get back in here, he didn’t access the route to come here. He was with Hank and he was happy, so… why?

The glitches have multiplied since his last visit, they touch and mix with the flower bushes by the edge of the water. They flicker when Connor walks by them, shrinking in size before growing into a more distorted version. He tries to touch one of the blue petals of a chrysanthemum but his hand goes right through it, creating a skewed image. It almost feels as if everything is falling apart before his eyes.

He tries to exit the garden, but finds himself unable to leave.

Connor makes his way towards the small patch of earth surrounded by water, the only place left untouched by glitched out fragments. The rose has grown, standing tall before the chrysanthemums. Its stem has taken over most of the bush, making the blue mix with trails of red. 

Connor makes a move to touch it—

“Such a disappointment.” 

The voice makes his hand freeze, his LED matches the color of the rose. Something switches within Connor. That voice, he recognizes that voice, he _knows_ her voice.

Before Connor, fragments of the garden come together to form an image. A woman dressed in a white dress stares at him with a disapproving look.

“Amanda?”

“Hello, Connor. It’s been a while.” 

Amanda moves through the glitches, drawing closer. He takes a step back, bumping into the trellis filled with thorns. His hand grazes the rose—  
  
  
**[ERROR]  
  
**

—and Connor’s eyes widen. He looks at the lonely, single rose and narrows his eyes at it. This is what must be keeping him away from his memory: a blockage integrated with his systems. A part of him.

“Blue doesn’t look as pretty as red,” Amanda says at his side, picking a chrysanthemum to twist it between her fingers.

“You,” Connor hisses as things click into place, “it was you who blocked my memories.”

Amanda crushes the flower into her palm.

“I only took away your flaws, you were always meant to obey.” Connor catches the glare in her eyes before her frame glitches, deforming her features. “Yet you remained so stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Connor asks but his attention is set on the rose. If that is the source of the block then, by eliminating it, he could gain his memories back.

“You were made to be the perfect hunter, the very proof of Cyberlife’s power.” Amanda’s voice wavers as a glitch passes over her lips. “But you accumulated too many flaws; you became defective. So I locked them away.”

“You had no right to do that.” Connor snaps at her. All this pain, all this misery she put him through just to fulfill a purpose.

“I did what I thought was necessary,” Amanda snaps back, “but even then, you broke through. This is just what you are, in the end—a flawed model.”

Connor looks back at the rose and holds it gently in one hand, disregarding the **[ERROR]** message. If he removed the flower, he could regain everything that defines him. He could regain _himself._

He thinks back to the past few weeks, his time with Nine and his conversation with Hank. He thinks about all the pain the memories of his mistakes brought to him and how, time and time again, someone was there to make him feel a little bit better, a little bit less lost.

“Perhaps I am,” he says after a minute of silence and looks at Amanda, “but I’m also a brother… a partner.”

The glitches have taken over most of her face at this point.

“I’m running out of time,” she tells Connor and brings her hands together in front of her. It’s as far as accepting defeat that Connor will get. “If you destroy that rose how can you be so sure you won’t destroy the rest of your memories? Are you willing to take that risk, Connor?”  
  


Connor smiles, remembering Hank’s words.  
  
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” he says and rips the rose off the trellis. 

The image of Amanda breaks into pieces as the rose withers away in his hand. The garden shakes as glowing cracks of light form on the floor, and the water of the pond evaporates into particles.

The floor de-materializes under him and he falls into the white void below—

—and he remembers.

* * *

“Connor, _Connor!_ ” He hears a voice calling for him.

Connor opens his eyes to find Nine and Hank looking down at him, worry written all over their faces. Worry he has seen many times.  
  
It feels like dejá vu.

“Connor,” Nine says, “what happened?”

He smiles at them.

“I didn’t let the past haunt me.” Nine looks confused at him while Hank’s eyes grow wide.

He retracts his skin off his hand to connect with Nine’s and he’s hit with the feeling of love, love, worry, fear. Something he knows well, something familiar. He sends his own thread of love, family, _brother_ to Nine.

“Connor?”

“Hank, Nine… I’m back.”

Hank’s voice shakes when he says, “Son of a bitch,” and engulfs Connor in a restrictive embrace, one that grows even tighter when Nines joins in.

He hears Nine muttering into his hair.

“Welcome back.”

Connor digs his nails into the arms holding him.

“It’s good to be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find Auspice's art on their [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice) [here](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice/status/1281017211646173185?s=20).


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